The Fall of a Hero
by Baby-Cellophane
Summary: Riff Raff discovers that the vigilante who brought the world of organized crime to its knees has a girlfriend. Rated M for violence. Needs a title; I'm open to suggestions.
1. Prologue

****_Author's Note_: I wrote some _Underdog_ fanfiction back when I was twelve or thirteen. It was pretty terrible, probably the worst thing I have ever written. At the time I was fairly proud of it, and I put it up on the Internet without a second thought. Years later, I decided to start reviewing fanfiction on the Internet (my Blip page: /the-fanfiction-critic). I discovered that my bad _Underdog_ fanfiction was still up on the Internet, and I decided to review it (you can watch it here if you want: /the-fanfiction-critic/the-fanfiction-critic-reviews-her-own-fanfiction-5359097). Then I got this insane idea that I should rewrite that fanfiction. So I did. I have no idea what to call this, by the way; if anyone has a suggestion, I'm all ears.

**PROLOGUE**

"Riff, I need to borrow some money."

Riff Raff took a long drag of his cigar and put his cards face-down on the table before turning to look at Sideswipe. She stared unblinkingly at him, silently waiting for his reply. The fact that she rarely blinked unnerved him; it was one of the many things that he disliked about her. Still, she did good work and didn't ask for much in return. Good help was hard to find these days; good cheap help was even harder to find. Sideswipe had, after all, figured out that Dominic Mulroni was ripping him off and had come forward with the proof.

"How much do you need?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I dunno. A couple thousand."

Riff's eyes narrowed. "What's it for?"

"I need a camera." She paused, still staring at him. "A really good camera."

He took another drag of his cigar. "What the hell do you need a camera for?"

She opened the bulky, tattered shoulder bag she always carried and began rooting through it. After several minutes, she handed him three extremely blurry photographs of an apartment building. Riff looked at the photos; they all showed the same apartment building. The photos were dark and blurry, and Sideswipe had evidently been too far away from whatever she was looking at to take a good picture. There was a fuzzy-looking blue and red figure on the fire escape, and another silhouette in the window. Sideswipe had probably used a cell phone to take the pictures. Sideswipe pointed at the photos, jabbing her finger at a blurry red and blue figure near the fire escape.

"That's the Underdog," she said.

Riff squinted at the photo. There were definitely two individuals in the photo; the red and blue blur standing on the fire escape and the silhouette in the window.

"It's the Underdog," said Sideswipe. "Hand to God, that's the Underdog."

"You found where he lives?" asked Riff. If Sideswipe was right, if she was telling him the truth, if she had actually seen the Underdog entering the apartment...

She shook her head. "That's his girlfriend's place."

Riff looked down at the photos. Thoughts churned inside of his head; the Underdog has been a thorn in the collective side of organized crime for the past five years. Riff Raff's associates and his enemies had felt the unrelenting, invincible Underdog's presence and had all paid dearly for his vigilantism.

The Underdog had shown up seemingly out of nowhere and had single-handedly thwarted over two dozen bank robberies and nearly a hundred drug runs since his arrival. What was worse was that the Underdog was aided by something that was either supernatural or the result of a science experiment gone awry. The Underdog could fly, he was impervious to bullets, and he was about ten times stronger and faster than the average man.

Every man has a weakness; Riff Raff had spent countless hours over the years exploiting the weaknesses of others. Once a weakness was found, the man could be broken; with the proper motivation, witnesses would refuse to testify, cops would lose evidence, and narcs would turn each other in. The silhouette in the photo was the Underdog's weakness, the key to breaking him. Riff handed Sideswipe back the photographs and reached for his checkbook.

"Here," he said, passing her a check.

She looked down at the check for a moment, her wide eyes never blinking. "It's blank."

"Take what you need to get better pictures. Find out who she is, where she lives, what she does for a living - I want to know everything about her." Sideswipe nodded before finally looking at him. "You rip me off, I'll kill you."

Sideswipe nodded, her expression never changing. "I know."

"Go get your camera."

She turned and left without a word, darting out the door with her head down.

Sandy turned to him. "You sure this is a good idea? I mean, after what Mulroni did - "

"Mulroni will get what's coming to him," said Riff, taking a deep drag of the cigar. "We'll pick him up in a few hours."

"You sure you can trust Sideswipe, though? She's a moron."

Riff nodded. Sideswipe had the tendency to be scatterbrained and disorganized. She had no concept of time; if she was asked to do something right away, it usually took upwards of a week to get it done. "She's smarter than Mulroni. She'll bring back photos of the Underdog and his girl."

Sandy pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. "And if she does get photos?"

Riff stood up. "Come on, let's get a bite to eat. Dealing with Mulroni could take a while."

~x~

After a great deal of thought and some research, Sideswipe cashed Riff's check for two thousand dollars. She would need a camera and a telescopic lens. She'd also need night-vision goggles and some winter gear; the nights were getting much colder.

She had found a handful of places where she could get good pictures of the apartment. She was laying on the roof of the apartment building directly across the street from her target, staring at it through the lens of the camera. She'd taken a few pictures of the woman inside; she hadn't closed the shades. This was her third night on the stakeout, and she hadn't seen the Underdog yet. Inside of the apartment, the woman switched on a red lava lamp on the table beside her bed. Sideswipe photographed it. The memory card on her camera held well over a thousand photos; in the three nights she'd been watching, she'd taken about a hundred.

An hour passed, the minutes ticking by like molasses. Sideswipe yawned and considered climbing into the sleeping bag she'd brought up with her. She felt a rush of wind and braced herself for the cold. The woman in the apartment went to the window and opened it. Sideswipe picked her head up in time to see the Underdog hovering by the fire escape. She started snapping pictures.

~x~

"Riff, you need to see this!"

The door burst open. Sideswipe stood in the doorway, holding her laptop under her arm.

"Don't you ever knock?" Sandy rolled his eyes. It had been over a week since Sideswipe had barged in asking Riff for money. No one had seen or heard from Sideswipe in nine days; she looked as though she hadn't slept or showered at all. Sandy had expected Riff to put a bounty out on her head for ripping him off. He hadn't told Sandy how much money Sideswipe had withdrawn from his account, though the amount didn't really matter. It was the principal of the thing; Riff Raff's trust was a difficult thing to gain, and nobody who abused it lived very long afterwards. Those who Riff graciously allowed to keep their lives were, in all honesty, better off dead.

Riff looked up from the newspaper he was reading. The cops hadn't found Mulroni yet; they suspected his wife, though. After disposing of Dominic Mulroni, Riff had given the grieving widow twenty-four hours to leave town, which she'd done without hesitation. Riff had been relatively kind to her; he had not told her how much her late husband had suffered, nor had he informed her that Mulroni had tried to throw their own daughter under the bus, claiming that he'd stolen the money to pay the girl's online gambling debts.

"You got something for me?" he asked, ignoring Sandy. Sideswipe nodded and put the laptop down on the table. She opened it up and started tapping away on the keyboard. The screen lit up.

"I got the pictures," she said, pointing to the screen. Both Sandy and Riff approached the computer and leaned over to look. Sandy's jaw dropped.

Whatever amount Sideswipe had spent on the camera, it had been worth every penny. The photos that scrolled across the screen were crystal clear; they showed the Underdog hovering in the air by the fire escape and entering the woman's apartment through the window. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, though Sandy couldn't put his finger on it.

"He isn't bulletproof," said Sideswipe, grinning ear-to-ear and showing off a mouth of crooked teeth. "He's wearing a vest."

The next photo showed the Underdog pulling off the baggy red T-shirt and blue cape, revealing a black, bulletproof vest.

"Are these those Underdog pictures you were talking about?"

Sandy glanced up. Riff's girlfriend, Dinah, stood in the doorway, leaning on it. Riff nodded and motioned for her to come and look. Sandy liked Dinah; most mob girlfriends or wives were conceited, letting the money and power go to their heads. They bossed around their boyfriends' associates and spent their money like water. They were petty and selfish, and got their kicks by belittling everyone around them; more than one mob boss was snickered at behind his back because he was henpecked and nagged in front of his peers or underlings. In public, Dinah knew that her place was by Riff's side as arm candy, to demurely agree with him or keep silent. She was tall and slim, and, as much as she loved the shiny, expensive trinkets that Riff bought her, her true passion was explosives. Prior to climbing into bed with Riff, Dinah had worked for him; Sandy had heard her car bombs described as works of art. When she wasn't keeping up the facade of the perfect girlfriend, Dinah kept busy by building and detonating bombs. Her devotion to Riff was nearly as great as her passion for bomb-making; once Riff had discovered the Mulroni was ripping him off, she had offered to blow up his car. Riff's only reason for declining was that he wanted Mulroni to suffer.

Dinah leaned forward and scrolled through the photos. "I know her!" she tapped the screen, pointing at the woman in the photographs. "She's that reporter from the local access channel!"

"We need to find out more about her. Sideswipe, can you hack into her computer like you did with Mulroni?"

Sideswipe shook her head. "Not remotely. I need to get into her apartment."

Riff looked over at Sandy. "I'll get you in," said Sandy. Picking the lock on an apartment would be a cakewalk. Sideswipe nodded.

"Polly Purebred," said Dinah, jabbing the screen again. "That's her name. She does the eleven o'clock news."

"I need to know everything about her."

~x~

"You're an hour late."

Sideswipe looked down at her watch before remembering that it was broken. A long, thin crack ran through the face and the hands remained fixed at ten and two. It was red and shiny, and Sideswipe liked wearing it. She looked at Sandy and shoved her hand into her coat pocket.

"Sorry," she said. Sandy rolled his eyes and entered the apartment building. Polly had left for work an hour ago (although if Sideswipe really was an hour late, then Polly had been gone for two hours and not one). She wouldn't be back until after midnight. Sideswipe had to resist the urge to look down at the broken watch again.

She followed Sandy to the elevator. Polly lived in the cheaper part of town, a little less than a block away from the Elm Street Station. Her building came with a broken security camera instead of a doorman. The elevator rumbled up towards Polly's apartment on the fifth floor. Sideswipe had to fight the urge to fidget. She knew that Sandy didn't like her, though she couldn't fathom why; she dug through her memories, trying to figure out if she'd done or said something that would offend him and came up blank. She waved the thoughts away and yawned. She'd spent the last four nights in a row perched on the roof across the street, aiming the camera at Polly's window.

Polly and the Underdog had a fairly clever system set up. If Polly switched on the tacky red lava lamp that was on her bedside table, it meant that she wanted him to come over. He usually did. If the lava lamp was on, then the window was usually unlocked; the Underdog would enter her room through the window. They frequently forgot to close the shades. Sideswipe had photographed everything that had transpired between Polly and the Underdog; she'd put the most recent batch of photos onto a disc for Riff.

After what felt like forever, the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors slid open. Sideswipe glanced around before exiting the elevator.

"It's 6-E," she said.

"I know."

Sandy walked past her, scanning the numbers on the doors. Sideswipe followed him. He paused outside of Polly's door and took the set of lockpicks out of his pocket. Sideswipe leaned against the wall and watched him. The lock on the front door was apparently an easy one to crack; it made a loud clicking sound as the door slid open. They entered the apartment and closed the door behind them.

"How long will this take?" asked Sandy.

"Just a few minutes."

Polly had left a laptop computer sitting on the kitchen table. Sideswipe switched it on. The screen flickered as the machine hummed to life. It was an older computer and took several minutes to boot up. Polly had not bothered setting up a password. Sideswipe rolled her eyes and looked over at Sandy, grinning. "She doesn't even have a password!"

Sandy didn't bother looking at her. He was pacing back and forth in the kitchen. "Are you done yet?"

"I haven't even started."

"Then hurry the hell up."

Sideswipe returned her attention to the computer screen. She took the flashdrive out of her pocket and plugged it into the computer. Three minutes later, her Spyware program had installed onto Polly's hard drive. It would keep track of whatever Polly did - the websites she visited, documents and photos that she uploaded - and would feed the information to Sideswipe's computer. If Polly's laptop had had a webcam, Sideswipe would've been able to hack into it; Polly, however, was too cheap to get one. Sideswipe tapped her fingers impatiently against the tabletop. If the computer had a webcam, she wouldn't have to sit out in the cold to get pictures of Polly's late-night trysts with the Underdog; she could do the whole thing remotely.

"That thing done yet?"

"Yeah." Sideswipe switched the computer off and put her flashdrive back into her coat pocket. She followed Sandy out of the apartment. Polly wouldn't be home until after midnight; if the Underdog showed up, it wouldn't be until one or two a.m. There were a handful of places where she could get a cheap burger before setting up her camera on the roof.

~x~

Sideswipe had dropped off a batch of new pictures. She'd developed a routine; the closest thing to a schedule you could get out of Sideswipe. This was the fourth week in a row she'd barged into Riff's office, smelling like a dumpster and looking jittery. As long as she had photos for him, he didn't care what she did. He did, however, want her to start taking care of herself. Depriving herself of sleep and showers would only make her careless; if she got herself caught, the whole operation would go down the drain.

"Go home, take a shower, and get some sleep," he told her.

Sandy snickered from the other side of the room. Sideswipe flinched, but left without saying anything. Riff turned to Sandy. He'd been following Polly on foot for the past two weeks. Polly's routine was solid; she went to the same pharmacy and grocery store on the same days. She didn't own a car and relied on the subway to take her everywhere. She moved quickly, with her head down, keeping to herself and ignoring everyone around her.

Planting the bug in her computer had led nowhere; she only used it to check e-mail, pay her bills, and play solitaire. Aside from her relationship with the Underdog, her life was completely and totally unremarkable.

Riff popped the new disc into his computer and waited for the images to appear on the screen. "She really needs to start closing the shades," he said.

Sandy remained on the other side of the room; he was playing with a combination lock. Spinny and Mooch, on the other hand, stopped what they were doing and made a beeline for the computer. Riff leaned back and let them scroll through the pictures. Even if the plan blew up in his face, he'd make a decent amount of cash just for the pictures alone.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

"Excuse me, miss, you got the time?"

"Twelve-thirty." The reply was crisp and monotone, and she quickened her pace as she spoke. Out of the corner of his eye, Sandy saw Riff moving through the shadows near the subway. Polly clearly hadn't seen him; her head was down, her eyes darting between Sandy and the sidewalk ahead of her. She barrelled onward, so wrapped up in reaching the subway that she was oblivious to what was really happening around her. Sandy slowed, moving behind her, just as Riff stepped out in front of her.

"Spare some change?"

"No, sorry." She attempted to side-step him, but he moved with her, blocking her path. She stopped and picked up her head, looking him directly in the eye. Sandy drew his gun, pressing it into the small of her back.

She reacted quickly, far quicker than Sandy expected. "Take it." She handed her purse to Riff, thrusting it towards him awkwardly. Riff lowered his hands, putting them in his pockets.

"Come with me," he said calmly.

Polly shook her head; she was trembling. "Please don't – "

"No talking." Riff cut her off. He stepped towards her. Polly squirmed uneasily. Riff glanced sideways and nodded towards the car waiting in the nearby alley. Spinny pulled the car up. Polly shook her head again. Riff opened the rear passenger's side door. Dinah slid over and patted the seat, gesturing for Polly to get in. Polly turned to Riff.

"Please," she said, her voice wavering, "I don't – "

"In." Riff grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the car. She cried out as he shoved her into the backseat. Sandy slammed the door, then walked around to the front passenger's seat. In the rear view mirror, he could see Polly uncomfortably wedged between Riff and Dinah; she was shivering and hugging herself, as if trying to make herself smaller to avoid any physical contact with them. "You can make this very easy, or very difficult," Riff was saying. He had pulled the envelope from his jacket and was in the process of handing it to Polly. "Just tell me his name."

Polly's hands shook as she opened the envelope, and she gasped. The photographs fell to her lap as she pressed her hand over her mouth, as if trying to suppress another gasp. Even in the dimness, Sandy could see Riff smirking. "All I need is a name," he said, "and then you can go home like none of this ever happened."

Hesitantly, Polly picked up one of the photographs. She looked at it, biting her lower lip. She shook her head and put the photos back into the envelope, her hands shaking so badly she nearly tore it in half. "Sorry," she said, handing the envelope to Riff. "I don't know his name."

"Really?" Dinah spoke now, leaning forward. Polly turned to her. "You don't know his name?" Polly shook her head again. Dinah laughed. "Seems a little odd, doesn't it? You've been seeing him for three whole months and you don't know his name."

"It's Underdog."

"I mean his real name, sweetie," said Dinah.

"Enough of this. Tie her up, Di."

Polly turned to Riff, her eyes wide. "What?" Her confusion only made Dinah's task easier; within the space of five minutes, Dinah had bound Polly's hands behind her back. "What do you want from me? I've already told you, I don't know who he is."

"Don't talk." Riff nodded to Sandy, and he stepped out of the car, pulling the Polaroid camera from his coat as he did so. He couldn't see anything through the tinted windows, but a few moments later, Riff exited the car, dragging a bound and blindfolded Polly with him. She was squirming and kicking at him. "Stop that." She ignored him and continued to twist, trying desperately to jerk out of his grip. Riff shoved her.

She stumbled, and for a moment, it looked like she might remain upright, but in the end, she fell, landing hard on her knees. "Don't move," said Riff. He walked up behind her and drew his gun. "Get my good side, Sandy."

"Sure thing."

The camera clicked and spat out a picture that clearly showed Riff, Polly, and the gun that was aimed at the back of her head. Sandy slipped it into an envelope. Riff put the gun away. In the distance, Sandy could hear Sideswipe's moped; for once, she was on time.

"I'm putting her in the car. Give the envelope to Sideswipe – she knows what to do with it."  
Sandy walked towards the street; out of the corner of his eye, he could see Riff shoving Polly into the backseat. Sideswipe's moped came into view, and Sandy waved at her. She stopped next to him and held out her hand. "Hello, Sandy."

"Hey." He handed her the envelope.

She tucked it into her jacket. "I've set off cherry bombs in three subway stations and firecrackers at the art museum and the library. That'll keep the Underdog busy for a few hours."

"Good," he said. "See you at the cabin in an hour."

She left without a word, speeding off in the direction of Polly's apartment building.

Sandy went back to the car and got in. "We're good to go," he said. Riff nodded and Spinny hit the gas. In the backseat, Polly whimpered.

~x~

The back of the car smelled strongly of perfume and cigars, and Polly had to fight the urge to gag. At first it had been impossible to decipher Riff Raff's mood; his voice was monotone and uninterested, but his eyes were alert. Her knees ached, and she was surprised that he had shoved her like that. The surprise was starting to transform into panic, and Polly tried staving it off by taking deep, even breaths. She suddenly wondered where her purse was. Of all the things to be thinking about, her purse and the inhaler it held was suddenly forefront in her mind. She swallowed, wondering what would happen to her if she asked where it was. Riff Raff had specifically told her not to talk, and the last time he'd been in her line of sight, he'd been pointing a gun at her. Was it still pointed at her? Would he actually shoot her? Surely not in the car, the car was full of people – would he pull over, drag her out of the car, and shoot her if she said anything?

Her mind raced, leaping from thought to thought almost incoherently. Where had Riff Raff gotten those photos? What did he intend to do with her? He clearly hadn't believed her when she'd claimed not to know Underdog's real name. What if he intended to torture her to get it? She'd heard a wide variety of unconfirmed rumors about him; her boss had insisted that the anchors cover them, even though there had never been any proof. Riff Raff was one of the most vicious and ruthless gangsters in town – hell, last week's news report had dubbed him the "King of the Underworld." Polly remembered crime scene photos that the police had reluctantly allowed them to air and had to stifle the urge to scream; the crime scene photos had included one of a dead, mutilated body belonging to Dominic Mulroni. The current theory was that Mulroni had stolen money and that Riff Raff hadn't been too kind when demanding it back. Of course, there was no proof; the body had been practically devoid of evidence, and a dozen people had come forward to nervously claim that they'd seen Riff Raff and his girlfriend at a popular restaurant. The medical examiner had confirmed that Mulroni had died after enduring over nine hours of torture.

_Maybe I should tell him_, she thought. She was immediately flooded with guilt at the mere thought of betraying her Underdog. Yes, he was strong enough to take care of himself, he could withstand almost anything, but that didn't make betraying him excusable. If anything, that only made it worse. What would Riff Raff do if he found Underdog's identity? Blackmail? Extortion? No, she couldn't let that happen. She had to protect him. He'd do the same for her…the thought struck her like a bolt of lightning and nearly made her cry out.

Riff Raff didn't intend on torturing her; he wanted her alive and unharmed. He was setting a trap and she was the bait.

~x~

They were only cherry bombs, but the subway was relatively crowded, and people were panicking. To make matters worse, a security guard had dropped the T-word; bomb squads were being called in and cops were donning riot gear in an attempt to quell the steadily rising chaos. He wished that he could break away from the madness for five minutes, just long enough to call Polly and tell her he'd be late; that would be futile anyway. They'd shut down the entire subway system. She'd be stuck walking home or waiting for a shuttle bus.

"I doubt it was kids playing a prank," one of the bomb squad guys was saying, "this thing was rigged with a timer."

"Who the hell uses a timer to set off cherry bombs?" demanded a security guard.

There was a piercing shriek from the platform. A man was lying on the ground, and a woman was standing over him, screaming that he'd suddenly collapsed.

It was going to be a very long night.

~x~

Polly's apartment was average and held no surprises. Sideswipe felt mildly disappointed by this; she'd hoped to uncover something scandalous. This was not the first time she'd been in Polly's apartment; she wasn't exactly sure why she had expected it to be different this time. She walked through the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was after one a.m. Sideswipe continued to the bedroom and set the envelope down on the pillow. She went to the window and drew back the curtains; after watching Polly and the Underdog for three months, she'd practically memorized their routine. She switched on the red lava lamp on the bedside table, then briefly considered shoving the pillows under the comforter to make it look like Polly was in bed. The Underdog had always shown up on seeing the red lava lamp, but Polly had been waiting for him in the room, often sitting up in bed reading. Would he enter if she wasn't in the room?

Sideswipe decided to leave the bed as it was. There was something elegant about the envelope resting on the pillow. She didn't particularly like the idea of touching someone else's linens anyway. She turned and left the bedroom, pausing in the kitchen to check her pockets. She had her keys, her wallet, her phone, and her lock-picks. She was still holding her helmet, and squeezed it as it to confirm its presence under her arm. She nodded, then left the apartment.

Her moped was where she'd left it, and she got on after donning the helmet. The cherry bombs would keep the Underdog busy for a few hours; the subway would be fairly empty, but explosives would incite a panic regardless. It would take her an hour or so to get to Riff's; he had her laptop and all the necessary cords and cables. She briefly considered running home to double-check, but waved the thought away. Riff was counting on her, and she couldn't be late. She sped off. In the distance, she heard the faint wail of police sirens and smiled to herself.

~x~

Polly was probably the calmest hostage he'd ever encountered; he'd seen grown men weep and soil themselves, had heard them scream and beg for mercy. He had expected something similar from Polly, but instead, she sat quietly, her back ramrod straight, her head facing forward. He could see her shaking, though, and knew that she was struggling to keep her fear in check. On the outside, she was almost like a statue, but inside, she was panicking. Riff hoped that it would remain that way, at least for now.

He glanced over at Dinah, who was rifling through Polly's purse. She had already tossed the cell phone battery out the car window and was now carefully picking through the purse's interior pockets. She held up a small, shiny object and frowned at it. She turned to Polly. "Hey, you got asthma?"

At first Polly didn't respond. She slowly turned her head towards the sound of Dinah's voice. "What?" her voice was soft and shaky.

"Do you have asthma? I think I found an inhaler – "

"Yes," said Polly, nodding, "I do, I mean, please, just put it back."

"You poor thing!" Dinah rolled down her window, then put her arm around Polly's shoulders, jerking her awkwardly towards the fresh breeze. "You should'a said something! It smells like a cigar store in here."

"I'm – I'm fine."

Riff could see that Di was only trying to make Polly feel less nervous; people did incredibly stupid things when they were nervous, like scream for help or try to escape. He caught Di's eye and nodded at her. "Roll the window back up."

"Riff, it stinks in here."

"No, it's fine, it doesn't matter, I'm fine – "

"Roll it up, Di."

Di pouted, but rolled up the window. She did not release Polly, who squirmed slightly. Riff glanced out the window; they had turned onto the uneven dirt road a few minutes ago. The cabin was still a twenty or so miles off. "Where are you taking me?" asked Polly suddenly. Her voice was small, but steady.

"No talking," said Riff. She flinched at the sound of his voice and fell silent. He had found that the best way to maintain control was through fear. People obeyed you when they were scared, and they did as they were told if you managed to convince them that you'd hurt them otherwise. Polly wouldn't be any different; she was scared and would play the pretty hostage perfectly.

They finally came to a stop, and he saw Polly's head perk up slightly. He got out of the car, and went to the other side. Dinah was in the process of helping Polly out of the car, taking care to make sure she didn't hit her head on the door. "Bring her inside," he said it even though Sandy and Dinah were already dragging Polly up the steps.

~x~

"Can you take her from here? I gotta get my cannons ready."

"Yeah, sure." Dinah didn't wait for him to respond. She handed him Polly's purse, then turned and raced up the stairs. The 'cannons', as Dinah called them, were really modified rocket launchers, specifically designed to shoot her handmade explosives into the sky. Mooch and Spinny had helped her mount them to the widow's walk earlier in the week, and tonight, they would be helping her fire them. Sandy didn't envy them.

Sandy's hobby-turned-profession was safecracking. There wasn't a lock he couldn't pick or a safe he couldn't break open; his talent lay solely within his long, thin fingers, and he wasn't about to do anything to jeopardize it. He knew that Dinah had had several accidents involving explosives. She'd broken all her fingers at least once. They had healed, and she always claimed that the injuries hadn't affected her. Of course, her area of expertise didn't require the same amount of finesse that his did. Any idiot could make something go "boom." Very few could disassemble a safe, and nobody could do it as quickly or as precisely as Sandy.

Polly turned her head, following the sound of Dinah's shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. "What's she doing?" she asked nervously.

"No talking," said Sandy. He tightened his grip on Polly's arm. "Come on, this way."

Polly balked, planting her feet firmly against the floor and shaking her head. She jerked back, trying to break free of his grip. "Let go of me!"

Sandy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Come on." He started walking, pulling her along. She continued to squirm.

"Let me go!" she was yelling now, and Sandy winced at the sudden high pitch her voice had acquired. "Help me! Somebody help me!"

The front door slammed, causing Polly to jump slightly. Riff walked over to her. He narrowed his muddy yellow eyes as he grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back. Polly shrieked. "I said no talking. No noise." Riff's voice was a thin growl. Sandy was fairly used to seeing him like this, but he took a step backwards nonetheless. Polly, on the other hand, had descended into the world of full-blown panic; keeping her quiet would be a herculean task.

"Please don't hurt me, please, please, I swear I won't tell anybody, honest, I won't – "

Riff placed his free hand over her mouth. "No one will hurt you if you stay quiet, you understand?" he said. Polly's muffled cries disappeared instantly. "Good. One more sound out of you, and I break your legs." Riff let go of Polly and she slowly stood up straight. Riff glanced at Sandy. "Lock her up and make sure she stays put. I'll be in my office." He turned and walked around the staircase, to the other side of the hall, without waiting for a response.

"Come on," said Sandy. He tugged lightly on Polly's arm, and she reluctantly walked alongside him. Under normal circumstances, the room at the end of the hall was a combined kitchen and dining area. The good furniture had been removed and replaced with a cheap card table and some folding chairs. The drawers and cupboards had been emptied, and the place was also missing its microwave, coffeemaker, and toaster. Ever cautious and ever paranoid, Riff had removed the fridge and disconnected the stove's gas line. The only thing he hadn't removed was the sink.

Sandy guided Polly to one of the folding chairs and sat her down. He dropped the purse on the floor by her feet. She had turned her head towards him, and Sandy had the strangest feeling, like she was looking at him. He was somewhat tempted to wave his hand in front of her blindfolded face, just to see if she'd react.

"Sandy! Sandy, come up here, I need an extra set of hands!"

Sandy grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was devote his hands to Dinah's explosive cause, but he knew he'd face Riff's ire if he refused. "Yeah, I'm coming," he yelled.

Polly jumped slightly. "You stay here," he told her, "you stay here, and you don't move or make a sound, you understand?" Polly nodded. "Good." He patted her shoulder, "you're a smart girl. I'll be back." He left the room, taking care to lock the door behind him.

~x~

If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Normally he would've ignored firecrackers at the art museum, but the incident in the subway had everyone on edge. He was practically obligated to investigate the firecrackers, even though his back ached and his ears were still ringing. The subway officials had been surprisingly efficient and had managed to get shuttle buses up and running, safely ferrying people to their destinations. The crowd, however, had been unruly and panicky, and the police had been surprisingly sloppy. Clearing the subway had been a nightmare, as people had trampled each other in a desperate attempt to escape it. Once the T-word had been uttered, everyone had assumed that the subway would come crashing down around them, and a mad dash to the nearest exits had ensued.

Fortunately, ambulances had been quick to respond, though they were now being overloaded with the wounded and those claiming to be wounded. Part of him felt guilty for leaving, but the subway officials, cops, and EMTs could handle the crowd, which was thinning rapidly. Once people were clear of the danger, their either went home willingly or were forcefully told to leave the area.

Normally, he would've gone straight home, but the explosions coming from the had museum caught his attention. He wondered if the two events were linked. It was odd that the cherry bombs in the subway had been detonated with timers. According to the bomb squad, that indicated the work of a professional. This only raised unsettling questions, which he pushed out of his mind. It was beyond his realm of knowledge and, therefore, a matter for the police.

Much to his surprise, the firecrackers were being launched from the roof of the museum and not the nearby parking lot. He hovered above the roof, scanning it for activity. Surprisingly, the roof was empty, aside from the fireworks. He landed on the roof and watched as the last firecracker shot up into the air, exploding in a burst of light and color. He looked around; he'd been expecting to see a bunch of kids. Instead, the roof was desolate and lonely.

He walked towards the stand where the firecrackers had been. The remnants of a burned egg timer were lying on the ground. He picked up the warped plastic. Whoever had left the firecrackers on the roof was skilled enough and knew enough about explosives to rig a timer, similar to the cherry bombs in the subway. Who would go through all that trouble for cherry bombs and firecrackers?


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Once the footsteps faded, the silence engulfed her, and she had to fight the urge to scream. The silence was somehow more terrifying than anything else, and she was desperate to break it. She took a deep breath and slid her foot along the floor. It made a soft, scraping sound that was mildly comforting. She nudged her purse with her foot and suddenly found herself thinking about its contents. Wallet, nail file, lipstick, inhaler, cell phone…Polly suddenly stood up. Hopefully, her cell phone would still be in her purse. It was a long shot; Riff Raff had probably taken it. Still, she had to try.

She took a few steps forward, sliding her feet along the floor. She sat down slowly, her hands brushing the chair as she did so. She groped with her bound hands and felt her fingertips brush against the strap of her purse. She grabbed it and tugged it across the floor, towards her. It felt reassuringly heavy. Maybe Riff Raff had forgotten about her cell phone. She plunged both hands into the purse, fumbling with its contents. Her heart began to sink. Riff Raff wasn't stupid. There was a reason he was considered the King of the Underworld, and it was because he never made mistakes, like leaving a hostage with her cell phone.

Polly's knuckles brushed against the nail file, and she immediately grabbed it. It was a thin, metal file with a pink plastic handle. She had never liked emery boards, had hated the way they felt against her nails, and now she was thankful that she didn't have one. She gripped the nail file's plastic handle and tilted the file upward, aiming for her bonds. She felt the tip of the file poke against her wrist, just above the rope. She adjusted the file, attempting to place it against the rope as if it was a knife blade. She moved her fingers back and forth, crudely sawing at the rope.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she felt the rope loosen, and suddenly she was able to move her hands apart. She tore the blindfold away, nearly poking herself in the eye with the nail file as she did so. She blinked and looked around. The room was medium-sized and completely empty; it might have been a kitchen. She grabbed her purse and rifled through it frantically. Much to her surprise, her cell phone was buried at the bottom, beneath her wallet.

The phone felt light in her hands, and she quickly realized that its battery had been removed. Polly bit her lip, stifling her urge to cry. She stood up and tiptoed towards the closed door in front of her. She stopped, her hand reaching out for the knob. What if someone was on the other side? What if she opened the door and Riff Raff's goons were there waiting for her? She let her hand fall to her side. There had to be another way to escape.

She turned around. There was a window behind the table and chairs. Polly darted towards it, trying to remain as quiet as possible. It unlocked easily and slid open. Polly peered out into the darkness. She was on the first floor and could climb out easily. Her real dilemma came from not knowing where exactly she was. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out unfamiliar shapes, like trees, in front of her. She glanced over her shoulder at the door. _There is no other option_, she told herself as she climbed out the window. She placed one hand on the side of the house and began walking. They had come here by car; there had to be a road nearby.

~x~

He was more than surprised to find that Polly's light was on. It was nearly two-thirty, and she was rarely up this late. He landed on the fire escape and opened her window. He climbed over the sill and entered the empty room. "Polly?" he called out and regretted it. His voice sounded hollow and lonely, and it was suddenly clear that she wasn't home. He looked around the room. She always put her purse on the floor near the bureau; all he saw was an empty gap where it should have been. Polly wasn't home, in fact, she probably hadn't even been home. He switched off the red lava lamp and flipped on the lights. In the sudden burst of brightness, he saw an envelope lying on Polly's pillow. He picked it up and opened it.

For a brief instant, he thought he would scream, and he felt his knees buckle. He was suddenly sitting on the edge of Polly's bed. Though he'd only seen the photograph for a few seconds, the image was burned into his mind's eye, and it was one that would later haunt his dreams.

Polly was on her knees, facing the camera. She was blindfolded, but her mouth was open, as if she was crying out in surprise. Behind her and aimed straight at the back of her head was a revolver that was (presumably) loaded. Notorious gangster Riff Raff was holding the gun and looking directly into the camera, his expression calm, as though this was the sort of thing he did all the time. The fear set in once he realized that this was indeed something Riff Raff did do all the time, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from screaming. A sheet of paper fell out of the envelope and onto his lap. He picked it up hesitantly, dreading the inevitable ransom note and list of instructions.

_She'll stay alive as long as you cooperate. Come to the address below. Come alone. No cops. Leave the bullet-proof vest at home. You won't need it. _

His mouth was suddenly dry, as if someone had jammed a wad of cotton down his throat. How did Riff Raff know about the bullet-proof vest? If he knew about the vest, what else did he know about?

~x~

Sandy opened the door, stared into the empty room, and felt his heart stop. He shut the door and closed his eyes, shaking his head. It had to be his imagination; there was no possible way Polly could have escaped. He took a deep breath, then opened the door again. The room was still empty. Sandy felt his stomach tighten and tried to keep the panic at bay. Polly's escape was his death sentence; his one job had been to watch her.

He found himself cursing Dinah under his breath as he ran to Riff's office. If Dinah hadn't distracted him, he could have prevented Polly from escaping. Riff would kill him for this, and it was all Dinah's fault. He couldn't even shift the blame onto her; in Riff's eyes, Dinah could do no wrong. If anything, blaming Dinah would only make him angrier.

"Riff, we have a problem." Sandy was surprised at how shaky his own voice was. He looked down and realized that his hands were trembling. He balled them into fists in a desperate attempt to make the shaking stop.

"What is it?" Riff looked up from the papers on his desk. His voice was terse and his eyes were calm and unblinking. Sandy had seen him look this way before; it was a look that usually preceded an extremely violent and bloody death.

"She's gone."

"What?" Riff stood up suddenly, knocking over the chair. Sandy jumped. Riff came towards him, his own hands balled into fists. Sandy found himself backing away, wringing his hands; somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that Dominic Mulroni had done the exact same thing.

"I - I had to help Dinah, and when I came back, Polly was gone," he stammered.

"If we can't find her, so help me God, I'll cut your hands off and feed them to you." Without waiting for a response, Riff marched past him and called for Mooch. Mooch rushed down the stairs, practically leaping over the last few steps.

"What is it, Riff?" Like Sandy, Mooch recognized Riff's foul mood immediately. Unlike Sandy, Mooch had nothing to worry about; he hadn't lost the hostage.

"Polly's escaped," said Riff. He walked towards the door, motioning for Mooch and Sandy to follow him. "We have to go get her." Mooch nodded. He was remarkably calm about the news.

"She - she's probably headed for the main road," said Sandy. "She couldn't have gone far."

Riff nodded and pointed to the car. "Mooch, start the car. I'll join you in a minute." He handed Mooch the keys, and Mooch went to the car.

Riff turned to Sandy. "I'll go check the woods behind the house," said Sandy. "I think she climbed out the window, so - "

"Give me your hand."

Sandy blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Give me your hand."

Sandy slowly extended his left hand. Riff grabbed him by the wrist, jerking him forward. "Riff, I - " Riff grabbed his pinkie finger and slowly started to bend it backwards. The joints started to throb, and Sandy immediately tried to pull his hand away.

"Riff, don't, please, I'm sorry, I'll find her, I promise - " He heard the crunching sound before feeling the pain. He pressed his right hand over his mouth, stifling his own scream. His finger was bent backwards at a grotesque angle, and the pain shot through his hand and up into his arm like a bullet. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he barely noticed that Riff had let go of him and was walking towards the car.

~x~

The dirt road made the moped harder to maneuver; Sideswipe cursed and slowed down. Something was moving up ahead, probably a deer crossing the road. Sideswipe squinted through the darkness; the light on the front of the moped only shone so far into the seemingly unending blackness. Whatever it was, it was stumbling and staggering and moving towards her.

Sideswipe's eyes widened and she slammed on the brakes, nearly toppling the moped. Polly was rushing towards her, waving her arms frantically. Sideswipe pulled her helmet off and stared in disbelief.

"Oh thank God! You've gotta help me, I've been kidnapped, please, you have to get me out of here - "

The road was suddenly flooded with light and the sound of a motor running tore through the night. Sideswipe blinked; she could feel Polly tugging on her arm. "It's them! It's them - please help me - please get me out of here - "

Sideswipe grabbed Polly's arm, digging her fingers in and holding on tight. Polly cried out. The car skidded to a halt and both the driver's and passenger's side doors flew open. Riff Raff was out of the car before it had fully stopped, running towards Polly and Sideswipe. Polly was screaming now, pleading with Sideswipe to let go of her and help her.

Something seemed to snap inside of Polly's head, to click, as if she'd realized that Sideswipe wasn't there to help; she lashed out at Sideswipe with her free hand. Sideswipe felt Polly's nails sink into her cheek, felt her flesh tear, and suddenly her face was covered with something warm and wet. She stumbled back, letting go of Polly as she fell off the moped. She pressed both hands to her face, wailing in pain and trying in vain to make it go away. She felt blood coursing through the wounds, seeping out between her fingers and pouring down her arms and chest. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, and no matter how hard she pressed the wound, it kept coming.

"Easy now, take it easy." She heard Riff's voice and felt his hands on her arms, pulling her to her feet. Riff pulled her, forcing her to stumble along after him; he was leading her to the car. "You're OK," he said, "it's just a scratch."

"It hurts - it hurts so bad - "

"Come on, get in." He guided her into the front seat of the car. She could see Polly and Mooch in the rear view mirror; Polly was still shrieking like a banshee and thrashing. "Keep her quiet," snapped Riff, getting behind the wheel and throwing the car into drive. The car lurched forward.

"My bike," said Sideswipe, "what about my bike?"

"Sandy's taking care of it," said Riff. The car made a sharp turn, effectively slamming Polly against one of the doors. She grabbed at it, fumbling with the handle in an attempt to get the door open. Mooch grabbed her arms, twisting them behind her back.

Through her fingers, Sideswipe saw the cabin. Riff parked the car. He and Mooch succeeded in dragging the squirming, kicking Polly out of the backseat. Sideswipe turned and reached for the handle with her free hand. The pain in her cheek had turned into a sharp, steady throbbing sensation.

She looked up in time to see Riff strike Polly, slapping her hard across the face. Sideswipe froze, staring wide-eyed as Polly slumped, obviously defeated. Riff was saying something to her; his voice was too soft for Sideswipe to hear, but his eyes were narrow and full of anger. Sideswipe shrank back against the passenger's seat. She had always known that Riff was a violent man; she knew exactly what he'd done to Dominic Mulroni and others who had had the misfortune of crossing him. She'd never witnessed this cruelty firsthand; this was the first time she'd ever seen him strike someone. She was suddenly aware that she was dripping blood all over the plush leather interior of Riff's car. Sideswipe glanced around, trying to assess the damage; it was too dark to see. Maybe if she paid to have it cleaned, he wouldn't be mad at her. The door opened suddenly, and Sideswipe shrieked in surprise.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," said Riff, offering her his hand. She took it reluctantly, and he helped her out of the car. Mooch had evidently brought Polly in the cabin; the front door was wide open and light spilled out onto the porch.

"I'm sorry about the mess - "

"Don't worry about it." Riff put his arm around her shoulder and led her towards the cabin. "Sandy's gonna fix your face, and everything's gonna be fine."

~x~

The side of her face ached; it was nothing compared to how her wrists felt, though. The rope was practically slicing into her, scraping painfully against her skin and cutting off circulation to her fingertips. Polly watched in silence as Riff Raff approached her. He bent down, lowering himself so that he was at eye-level with her.

"Sit here and don't do anything stupid," he said. "You make any noise, I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to your boyfriend. You understand?"

Polly forced herself to nod and then forced herself to stay still while Riff Raff pressed a piece of duct tape over her mouth. The sleeves of his jacket were flecked with blood. Polly knew that it was from the girl she'd scratched, the one that Riff Raff had helped into the car; in the back of her mind, she kept imagining that it belonged to Dominic Mulroni. The image of the man's broken body flew through her mind, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.

The door creaked open, and the girl that Polly had scratched entered the room. A thick white bandage was covering half of her face. She glowered at Polly and made a beeline for a card table on the opposite side of the room. There was a laptop and a printer on the table. The girl sat down and started tapping the keyboard, filling the room with a loud, clattering sound. Riff Raff turned to her.

"You OK?" he asked.

The girl nodded. "Sandy says I don't need stitches."

"Good."

The girl opened her mouth as if to say something else, but was cut off by a loud booming sound from outside. Polly turned, trying to get a glimpse at the windows behind her. Riff Raff walked past her and stood by the window, looking out.


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

He saw the cabin up ahead. It was impossible to miss; a light was shining from the roof like a beacon. He sped up, squinting against the rushing wind and wishing that he was wearing the bulletproof vest.

The darkness, combined with his own terrible eyesight, prevented him from seeing the bomb. He didn't realize it was there until it exploded. The rushing wind swallowed the sound of the explosion, but the ball of fire caught his attention, and he darted to the side. The left side of his face was full of pain, raw and throbbing. Something hard and jagged was embedded in his face; whatever it was had narrowly missed his left eye. He slid downward through the sky, aiming for the trees. The second bomb exploded below him; the gust of wind blew him backwards. Something sharp sliced into his ribs and chest; he could feel the blood, warm and sticky, soaking through his shirt.

He saw the third bomb - a blazing ball of fire and heat - and ducked. The flames clipped his shoulder, and he felt the cape catch fire. The force of the bomb broke his concentration and knocked him from the sky. The wind swirled and howled around him as he fell. He shut his eyes and braced himself for impact.

The water engulfed him, sucking him downward. Weighed down by the cape, he kicked his way to the surface. He broke through the surface, gasping for breath and treading water. He fumbled with the charred remnants of the heavy cape, unclipping it and letting it float away. He swam for shore. He could walk to the cabin from here; the trees would cover him.

He pulled himself out of the lake. His entire body was wracked with agony and it hurt to breathe; he patted his side gingerly and winced. At best, his ribs were only cracked. At worst, broken. He touched the left side of his face, groping at the bits of shrapnel that had embedded themselves in his cheek and forehead. Pulling the shrapnel out would be painful; if he let it stay in, it would at least staunch the bleeding.

He looked around; the fall had disoriented him. He couldn't tell where the cabin was in relation to the lake. He would have to get above the trees in order to see it. He took a deep breath and leaped up into the air. Unless he could stay close to the treetops, flying would make him vulnerable to the bombs. He ascended quickly and looked around; the cabin was behind him. He dropped down, trying to stay close to the trees.

Something on his right exploded, and he shot upwards to avoid the flames and the shrapnel. The cabin was getting closer; he could make out people moving on the widow's walk. He squinted, wishing that he could see it more clearly, wishing that he had the bulletproof vest to protect him. And fifth and final bomb went off about a foot away from his face, and he raised his arms to protect himself. The flames licked his forearms and ragged bits of metal sliced into them. He felt himself falling again and fought to regain control.

He turned and managed to land on the ground by the porch. Pain shot through his left leg and he toppled, landing on his already-injured left side. He again found himself gasping for breath, and he struggled to sit up.

He didn't see the tall, blurry figures until it was too late; a steel-toed boot slammed against his ribs, and he heard himself screaming. The foot kicked again, this time landing a blow in the middle of his back. He rolled away from his assailants and staggered to his feet, putting as little pressure on his left leg as was possible.

There were two of them. The tall one - the one who had kicked him - was holding a baton. The second man hung back; he was holding a small, black object in his right hand and wearing some sort of brace on his left.

"Where's Polly?" he asked. The bits of shrapnel tore at his face when he moved his mouth and he could taste blood.

The second man lunged at him, pressing the black object against the side of his neck. He heard a sharp buzzing sound and then the pain and the darkness engulfed him.

The Underdog was lying on the ground, groaning and twitching. Sandy briefly considered zapping him with the stun gun again, but decided against it. He had thought that taking down the Underdog would be harder than this. Dinah's bombs had done the majority of the work for them. The Underdog made a thick gagging sound, then rolled onto his side and spat. In the darkness, Sandy could see part of a tooth and a chunk of shrapnel glittering in the pool of blood. The Underdog was in an ungodly amount of pain and was still probably trying to register it. Sandy felt a brief twinge of pain in his own left hand and forced himself not to think about it. He told himself that Riff had showed restraint and mercy; he'd gotten off easy.

Mooch poked the Underdog with the baton, eliciting another groan. "Get up." Without waiting for a response, Mooch bent down and grabbed the Underdog by the arm, jerking him up onto his feet.

"Where is she?" The Underdog's mouth was full of blood and his words slurred and ran together. Mooch shoved him towards the cabin. The Underdog stumbled and struggled to remain upright. "If you hurt her, I swear to God, I'm gonna - "

Mooch flicked the baton, striking the Underdog's left leg. The Underdog fell, shouting hoarsely and clutching at his leg. He looked up at Sandy and Mooch. His breathing was ragged and blood was running down his face. Sandy could see bits of shrapnel from Dinah's bombs embedded in the left side of the Underdog's face, jutting out awkwardly. In spite of his injuries, his eyes were blazing. If he'd had the strength, he'd rise up and kill them both. The thought made Sandy shudder, and he put his free hand on his gun. "Get up and go inside," said Mooch, pointing at the cabin. He put the baton away as he spoke, and Sandy saw him reach for his gun.

The Underdog slowly got to his feet. "I'll kill you, I promise, if you do anything to her - "

Mooch drew his gun, pressing it against the Underdog's forehead. The Underdog winced and jerked his head back, trying desperately to get away from the loaded gun. "She's alive," said Mooch, "now go inside."

The Underdog started limping towards the cabin. Mooch and Sandy followed; Mooch kept the gun pressed against the back of the Underdog's head. "Keep your hands up where I can see them." The Underdog raised his arms; they were streaked with blood and dirt. Sandy opened the door and they entered the cabin.

Riff Raff was rarely, if ever, truly frightened. He had seen the Underdog fall from the sky and had seen Mooch and Sandy kicking him. Even from a distance he could see that the Underdog was bloodstained and injured. Still, Riff was dealing with something completely unfamiliar; for all he knew, the Underdog was faking it and would kill them once he got inside. The Smith and Wesson felt reassuringly heavy in his hand. He pressed it against Polly's temple. She glanced up at him, then immediately turned her head away. Her wide blue eyes were brimming with terror.

He heard the front door open and swallowed. He could not afford to let panic take hold of him now. He heard heavy, thudding footsteps. The door to the study swung open and Mooch shoved the Underdog into the room.

The Underdog stumbled and lost his balance; he landed hard on both knees. Sharp bits of metal were jutting awkwardly out of the left side of his face. He was rubbing his forehead as he turned to look at Riff and Polly. Polly made a high-pitched whimpering sound and squirmed, trying to pull herself away from the gun that was pressed against her head.

"Please don't hurt her." The Underdog's speech was thick and slightly slurred, and blood oozed from his mouth when he talked. His voice was thin and reedy, higher in pitch than Riff had initially expected.

"I won't, unless you make me," said Riff. He heard the steadiness in his own voice, and he slid his thumb to the gun's hammer.

"I - I don't have any money - "

"I don't want money. I want your name."

The Underdog blinked. "What?"

"I want your first and last name, birthday, social security number, address, occupation - everything. I want everything." The Underdog took a deep breath. He rubbed his head again and winced. "Tell me your name or I paint the wall with her brains." Riff cocked the gun. It clicked sharply, and Polly whimpered again.

"Don't!" The Underdog raised both hands. He was wheezing, his narrow shoulders rising and falling with each desperate gasp. This was not the first time a man had knelt before Riff and begged for mercy, nor would it be the last. There was something different about the Underdog, though; he had the slumped posture of a man without hope. Every other man who had begged Riff for his life had always held onto a narrow, shining sliver of hope that he'd live to see the next day. The Underdog, however, knew that there was no hope. Giving up his identity meant that Riff would own him; it was a fate with no room for escape or hope.

"My name is Lewis Neilson Clarke, Jr."


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

He shook his head slightly, trying to keep the constant dizziness at bay; it was steadily growing worse. He desperately wanted to lie down, close his eyes, and let warm, comforting darkness consume him. The left side of his face was still bleeding. The pain had not lessened in any way; if anything, it had grown worse. There was also the sharp, stabbing sensation in his ribs and the incessant throbbing in his left leg.

He blinked again; bright lights seemed to be dancing at the very edge of his vision, in the corners of the room. He could hear a dull, clattering sound not unlike a keyboard or typewriter coming from the right side of the room; everything in his left ear registered as a dull, muffled sound. He gingerly touched his left ear. His fingertips came away sticky with blood.

Riff Raff lowered the gun and took a few steps towards him. Lewis shifted, putting his weight onto his relatively uninjured right leg. Maybe he could leap up, take Riff Raff by surprise...but then what? The plan fizzled from there. The only way to keep Polly safe was to to whatever Riff Raff ordered. Riff Raff was standing between him and Polly, blocking his view of her. It suddenly occurred to Lewis that he hadn't gotten a very good look at her; he knew that she was tied to a chair on the other side of the room, but he hadn't gotten more than a glimpse at her.

Riff Raff loomed over him, his mouth moving. Lewis shook his head and started to respond, to ask him to speak up, but was cut off by the butt of the gun slamming into left side of his face. Lewis toppled, hitting his head against the desk that was on his right. He gripped the desk with his right hand and pulled himself up into a seated position. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Polly was screaming, her voice muffled by the duct tape covering her mouth. Lewis looked up at Riff Raff and raised his left hand, trying to protect his already smashed face from a second blow.

"I can't hear you," he said. His mouth was once again full of blood, and a small, smooth object was brushing against his tongue. He spat it into his left hand. It was white and shiny; part of a tooth.

He felt Riff Raff grab him by the right ear and jerk his head forward. His fingernails dug into Lewis's ear. For a moment, it seemed as though he would tear his ear off. "I said, social security number." Riff Raff spoke slowly, but his voice was raised and full of anger. Lewis gave the number without pausing or hesitating. The clattering sound on the other side of the room resumed, and Riff Raff let him go.

"Get her out of here." He pointed to Polly as he spoke. Lewis gripped the desk with both hands and pulled himself to his feet, shifting his weight to his right leg. He still had to lean against the desk to keep from falling. He reached for Riff Raff with his left hand and managed to grab onto his sleeve.

"Please let me talk to her." Riff Raff made no move to brush him off or pull away from him. Instead he raised the revolver, pressing it against his forehead. Lewis forced himself to look at Polly. The bigger man - the one with the baton, the one who had kicked him - had picked her up and slung her over his shoulder like a laundry bag. Still bound and gagged, she squirmed and wriggled.

"You can talk to her later," said Riff Raff. "First, you're going to answer all my questions."

Lewis shifted his gaze back to Riff Raff. "I need to talk to her," he said again. "Please, please let me - "

Riff Raff raised the gun and brought it crashing down against his forehead. Lewis stumbled. Darkness had begin to swirl around him, filling him with a not entirely unpleasant numbness. The last thing he noticed before hitting the floor was just how blue Polly's eyes were; he wished he could tell her not to cry.

~x~

The explosions had been beautiful. Dinah took another long drag of the cigarette and blew smoke rings up at the ceiling. She closed her eyes, replaying the scene again in her mind. To Dinah, there was nothing more perfect than an explosion. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face; her hands still smelled like gasoline and gun powder. She inhaled deeply, letting the acrid scent fill her lungs. She took another deep drag of the cigarette; there was truly nothing better in the world than a good explosion, and she had just caused five of them in a row.

She blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. She had caused the Underdog to fall from the sky, engulfed in flame, spiralling downwards like a shooting star. She knew deep down that nothing would ever compare to that; she would try to replicate it by blowing up mannequins or dummies, but nothing would ever come close. In a way, it was sad. Still, she had the memory, and she would replay it in her mind and cherish it for the rest of her life.

Her reverie was broken by the door bursting open. Dinah opened her eyes and looked up. Mooch was carrying Polly over his shoulder; she was thrashing around like a fish out of water and making a high-pitched shrieking sound beneath the duct tape. Mooch had to struggle to hold onto her. Mooch dumped her unceremoniously into a folding chair. She continued to squirm and only succeeded in falling off of the chair, landing awkwardly on her stomach. Mooch looked down at her; for a brief instant, Dinah thought he would kick her.

"Don't let her out of here, OK?"

Dinah nodded. "Sure thing." Mooch turned and left before she'd finished talking.

Dinah glanced down at Polly. Polly's wrists had been tied behind her back with a thin white rope; her struggling had caused it to break the skin, and the rope was now tinged with a dull pinkish color. The hem of her skirt was torn and her black pumps were caked with mud; one of them was missing a heel. Dinah stubbed the cigarette out in the ash tray, then got up and went over to Polly. Polly turned her head and stared blankly up at her.

"I'll untie you," said Dinah, pulling the butterfly knife out of her pants pocket. "But you can't leave this room, you understand?" Polly nodded. Dinah knelt beside Polly, putting a hand on the center of her back. "If you try escaping, I'll have to cut you. You understand me?" She flipped the knife open and held it up. Polly looked at it, then nodded again.

Dinah carefully cut through the thin white rope that was binding Polly's hands. "I don't want to have to cut you," she said. She deliberately slid the blade across the palm of Polly's hand, taking care not to break the skin. Polly flinched, but nodded again. Once her hands were free, Polly reached up and began to slowly peel the duct tape off of her mouth. Once Dinah cut the rope binding her ankles, Polly sat up. Dinah slid across from her, placing herself between Polly and the door. Much to her surprise, Polly didn't dart for the door. Instead, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

~x~

Sideswipe cowered behind the laptop. She'd never seen so much blood in her life. She flinched as Sandy extracted another jagged scrap of metal from Lewis's left cheek. Lewis groaned and twitched. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness; Sandy had expressed some concern about the possibility of brain damage, but Riff had ignored him. Sandy was now kneeling over Lewis, using tweezers from the first aid kit to yank bits of metal out of his face.

"I think he needs stitches," said Sandy. He was pressing gauze against the side of Lewis's face.

"No stitches." Lewis's voice was barely audible and his words ran together. "Just apply pressure."

Sandy ignored Lewis and looked up at Riff. "He has a concussion and he needs stitches. I don't even know what's wrong with his leg - "

Lewis sat up suddenly, shoving Sandy aside as he did so. Sandy scrambled backwards, holding his wounded left hand behind his back as if to protect it from further damage. The gauze he'd been pressing against Lewis's bleeding face fell to the floor. Lewis picked it up and held it against his face. "It will get better," he said thickly.

"Faster than a normal person?" asked Riff. The question seemed to catch Sandy off-guard, but Lewis merely nodded.

"Something makes my body heal faster than normal," said Lewis. "If I get hurt, it takes less time for me to get better."

Riff nodded, then suddenly turned and looked directly at her. "Dammit, Sideswipe, write that down." She nodded and immediately returned her attention to the computer. The program she'd designed was reaching out to various corners of the Internet, prying through databases and Lewis's name and social security number. So far, she'd found his birth certificate (born and raised in Huntsville, Virginia) and related hospital records (he had extremely bad hyperopia; how he'd even made it to the cabin without glasses or contacts was a mystery to her), information about his family (his parents were dead, but his younger sister was married, had three children, and still lived in Huntsville), and numerous newspaper articles relating to a mining accident. According to the articles, the mining accident had involved a collapsed tunnel and some highly unstable chemicals.

"Can I please see Polly now?"

"How did you get your..." Riff paused, searching for the right word, "powers?"

Lewis shook his head. "I don't really know."

"I guess you can see Polly then." Riff started to move towards the door. "I'll let you watch while I break her legs."

"No - wait!" Lewis lurched to his feet. He took a few unsteady steps towards Riff. "I don't how or why it happened."

"You woke up one day and you could fly?"

"No, not like that." Lewis shook his head. He wobbled slightly and had to lean on the desk for support. "There was an accident."

Sideswipe returned her attention to the computer screen. The program was pulling up police reports. She clicked on one and gasped. "Martin Jessup," she said, "ask him about Martin Jessup."

Martin Jessup was currently incarcerated just outside of Huntsville, serving several concurrent life sentences for multiple murders. His list of known victims included one Lewis Neilson Clarke, Sr. According to the police reports and newspaper articles that her program was pulling up, the police had caught seventeen-year-old Lewis Jr. beating the ever-loving crap out of Jessup, a man who was easily twice his size. Jessup was so badly beaten that the cops hadn't immediately recognized him; he was also paralyzed from the waist down. The beating had occurred on the same night as the mining accident.

Riff, Sandy, and Lewis turned to look at her. It was the first time Lewis had even acknowledged her presence. He lurched towards her, gripping the edge of the desk. "How do you know that name?"

Sideswipe scooted backwards, shoving the cheap folding chair back against the wall. She was practically trapped between the card table and the wall, and she did not like the way Lewis was looking at her. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and they stared at her unblinkingly. Riff grabbed Lewis's arm, pulling him back, away from her.

"Who is Martin Jessup?"

Lewis reluctantly turned to look at Riff. "He killed my father."

Riff seemed genuinely surprised by this, and he glanced at Sideswipe, as if asking her to confirm. She nodded.

"I found him hiding in one of the mines where my father used to work." Lewis was looking down at the floor. He rubbed his forehead again. "I went in after him, but he knew that I was looking for him. He rigged the mine with explosives and caused a cave-in. I...I don't really know what happened next. I remember picking up the rocks and pushing them out of the way and then...I found Martin Jessup a few miles away. I don't really remember what happened next."

"Did you kill him?"

Lewis shook his head. "No. The police told me that he fell and hurt himself."

For a brief moment, the room grew very quiet. Sideswipe was suddenly very much aware of how hard her heart was beating; it felt like it would burst out of her chest and shatter the computer screen. She looked down at the screen; her program was pulling up police reports and newspaper articles about Jessup now. Jessup had killed five people, including Lewis's father, who had been his last victim. Jessup had grown sloppy towards the end of his killing spree; he'd left the fingerprint-covered tire iron that he'd used to end Lewis Sr.'s life in plain sight.

"Sideswipe, does it say how bad this guy was hurt?"

She nodded. "He's paralyzed."

Riff looked at Lewis and arched an eyebrow. "Hell of a fall."


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Polly had been crying steadily for a little over thirty minutes. Dinah had put her arm around her shoulders, but Polly only ignored her. The high-pitched, incessant sobbing was starting to wear on Dinah's nerves. She found herself wanting to slap Polly.

"It's gonna be OK," said Dinah. "I'm sorry about that thing with the knife, I didn't mean to scare you so bad."

Polly wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and finally turned to look at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her makeup had run, streaking her cheeks with a scummy black substance. Polly pushed Dinah's hand off her shoulder, scooting away from her as she did so. "Don't touch me." Her voice was thin and raspy.

Dinah rested her elbows on her knees. "Look, I just want you to stop crying." She glanced up at the table. Her eyes lingered on the pack of cigarettes. She reached up and grabbed the cigarettes and the lighter. "You want one?" she held the pack out to Polly.

Polly shook her head. Dinah shrugged and drew a cigarette from the pack. She put it in her mouth and lit it. Polly hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head against them. She was staring longingly at the door. Dinah slid backwards, pressing her back against the door. Polly didn't react to this; she continued staring as if Dinah wasn't even there. The silence that settled between them was thick and uneasy; Dinah suddenly found herself missing the crying. She took a drag of the cigarette and blew a smoke ring up at the ceiling, trying desperately to think of something to say.

"Your shoe's broken," she said finally. Polly glanced down at her feet, then removed the shoe with the broken heel. She held it gently, the way someone might hold an injured bird. "I can buy you new ones if you want."

Polly shook her head and tossed the broken shoe aside. It clattered noisily to the floor. "I don't care," she whispered.

Dinah rolled her eyes. Before she could respond, she felt the door pushing against her back. She scrambled to her feet and opened it. Riff was standing on the other side. Behind him, Dinah could see Sandy, Mooch, and the Underdog. She was momentarily startled by the Underdog's blood-smeared face. He was pressing a grimy-looking bandage against his left cheek. His arms were caked with dirt and dry blood. Later, she would realize that the majority of the damage had been the direct result of her bombs, that the shrapnel she'd filled them with had sliced up his face and arms.

"What's going on?" she asked, whispering so as not to attract Polly's attention. She glanced quickly over her shoulder. Polly was still sitting on the floor, her face buried in her knees.

"He gets five minutes with her," said Riff. He motioned to the Underdog. The Underdog staggered forward; he was favoring his left leg.

"If you've hurt her, I swear I'll - "

"You lay a hand on me or any of my associates and your name goes public. You understand?"

The Underdog stared at Riff. Riff stared back, refusing to blink. "She's fine," said Riff through clenched teeth. "Go in and see for yourself."

Dinah stepped aside, letting the Underdog into the room.

~x~

Polly was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees. Her eyes were bloodshot, as if she'd been crying. She looked up at him and scrambled to her feet almost immediately. The tears had begun to spill down her face again.

"Don't cry, Polly."

She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. Pain shot through his ribs, but he clenched his teeth and ignored it. Polly was safe. She was alive and unharmed, and he had both arms around her. He ran a shaking hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry - "

"Don't - don't apologize. Not for this - "

She lifted her head and looked at him. "I tried to escape," she said, "I tried so hard. I almost made it. I just...they caught me again...I tried to get away..."

"Don't apologize." He couldn't think of anything else to tell her. "None of this is your fault."

In truth, it was his fault. He had been careless. He had brought her into this. If not for him, she would be sleeping safely in her apartment. He had unknowingly dragged her down into the bloody, crime-filled world that he willingly occupied. His stupidity and carelessness had put her directly into the hands of one of the most vicious criminals he'd ever known. She didn't deserve that; she didn't deserve him. She deserved so much better.

"I tried so hard..."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. "It's gonna be OK."

She had to know that he was lying; there was no possible way things would ever be OK. Things would never go back to the way they once were. The damage had been done and it was irreparable. She'd be in harm's way for the rest of her life because of him. She kissed him anyway, willing to pretend that things would turn out fine.

He heard the door open behind him and felt Polly shudder. He looked back over his shoulder. Riff Raff was standing in the open doorway, staring expectantly at them.

"I need to ask you some more questions," he said. "Come on."

"It hasn't been five minutes." He found himself unable to let go of Polly. She buried her face in his shoulder and dug her nails into his arms, unwilling to let go of him. "Please, just let us have more time."

"No." Riff drew the revolver and stepped forward. "Now get over here before I shoot you both."

Lewis forced himself to let go of Polly and carefully pried her fingers off his arms. She shook her head. "Don't leave me."

"I'm gonna be right back," he said. "I just have to answer a few more questions." He didn't know what more he could tell Riff Raff; he'd told him practically everything. There wasn't even a way to keep a secret from him; the girl with the computer had dug up files regarding Jessup and his father's murder. The more Riff Raff knew, the more power he held.

Polly sighed and rubbed her eyes. She nodded a few times. "OK." Her voice was barely audible. Lewis had to force himself to turn away from her and follow Riff Raff back to the office. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men who were flanking him; they both held guns. Lewis tried to quicken his pace. His left leg was in agony. Putting any amount of pressure on it sent pain spiralling up from his ankle to his hip.

He was almost grateful when Riff Raff shoved him towards a folding chair. Someone - probably the girl at the computer - had set it up opposite the desk. Lewis sank down into the chair and watched as Riff Raff sat at the desk across from him.

"She's cute," he said. "How'd you two meet?"

"We live in the same apartment building."

"I know that. I'm asking how you met her."

Lewis flinched; of course Riff Raff had figured out that he and Polly lived in the same building. "I'm a handyman. I fixed her sink."

"And then what? You put the cape on and flew around the block with her?"

"No." He gripped the legs of the folding chair. He found himself desperately wanting to snap Riff Raff's neck, and looked down at the floor. Riff Raff had him on a leash and was practically strangling him with it. To make matters worse, he knew exactly what he was doing. Each and every move that Riff Raff made was carefully calculated. The more information Riff Raff pried out of him, the more he had to hold over his head. Lewis couldn't do a damn thing without risking his life and Polly's. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger that was rising inside of him.

"We went out for a few months, and then I told her."

"Really? Do you tell every pretty little thing you sleep with that you fight crime when you're not fixing her sink?"

Lewis swallowed. He felt the metal legs of the folding chair bend slightly beneath his fingertips; he loosened his grip. "It isn't like that."

At this point, Riff Raff wasn't trying to gain information; his questions were merely a form of torture. He was twisting the knife. Lewis swallowed and forced himself to make eye contact with him. He was more than capable of snapping Riff Raff's neck with his bare hands. He glanced briefly at the girl at the computer. All she had to do was push a button and his identity would be broadcast to the world. Anger was rising up in his throat like bile, and he had to struggle to swallow it.

"Do you remember how the train derailed at the Elm Street Station last year?"

"Yes."

Talking about what had happened at the Elm Street Station was almost as difficult as talking about his father's murder; in his mind, the two events were intertwined. The train had derailed late at night, about an hour or so before the trains all shut down for the night. Thirteen people had died; twenty more had been injured. He'd gone down into the tunnel to help the rescue workers get to the injured. The darkness had been stifling; it had wrapped itself around him, crawling down his throat and choking him. He'd pushed his way through the dank, claustrophobic tunnel to reach the train, and had done his best to help the wounded. He liked to think that he'd saved lives that night, though the thirteen who had expired before he could reach them had lodged themselves in his heart like an angry thorn.

In the darkness of the subway tunnel, surrounded by the injured, he'd only been able to think about his father and what his last hours had been like. Jessup had smashed in the back of his head with a tire iron and had left him to die in the mine where he'd spent his entire life working. The image of his father, alone and slowly bleeding to death, had firmly planted itself in his mind. It had torn open old wounds that he'd successfully ignored for the better part of two years. There was the fear, of course; the very idea of dying cold and alone was enough to scare anybody. Then there was the guilt.

He knew that the only person who could be blamed for his father's death was Jessup. Jessup had made the conscious decision to end his father's life. Still, there was a voice deep inside Lewis's mind that kept telling him that he could have saved his father. That night, in the subway tunnel, the whispers in his head were bent on reminding him that he could have gone to the mine and stopped Jessup. He didn't know how long he'd spent in the subway tunnel; it had felt like an eternity. Once the wounded and the dead had been removed from the tunnel, he'd left. He somehow managed to avoid the gaggle of reporters surrounding the subway.

Polly had been among them, of course, a microphone in her hand; she had looked as frazzled and panicked as the rest of the spectators and reporters. Lewis had gone back to his apartment, changed out of the grimy shirt and cape, and waited by the window, watching as the crowd finally dissipated. He hadn't bothered to watch Polly trudge wearily back to the building; he left his apartment and stood in the hall outside of hers, waiting.

After she had let him in, he wound up telling her everything. She had listened patiently and held him when the dam inside his chest broke and the tears came. He hadn't realized just how lonely he'd been until that moment.

"That's real sweet," said Riff Raff. "I always thought you saved her from a mugger and she was just thanking you." He stressed the words 'just thanking you,' making Polly sound easy. "Does that ever happen? You save a woman from a mugger and she gets down on her knees to thank you?" Someone on the other side of the room snickered at the remark.

"Nobody does that." Lewis shook his head and clenched his teeth to prevent himself from lashing out and saying something stupid. His jaw ached. Telling Riff Raff and his goons about his relationship with Polly somehow cheapened the moment, made it less than what it actually was. "How many more questions do you have?"

Riff Raff opened one of the desk drawers and removed a small, square object. He put it down on the desk and slid it towards Lewis. Lewis leaned in and looked at it; it was a cell phone, one of the cheap, prepaid ones. "You work for me now," said Riff Raff. "Anytime this phone rings, you answer it and do what I tell you to."

Lewis picked up the phone. He heard the door open and close behind him. He looked down at the phone, then back up at Riff Raff. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'll tell you when you need to know."

Lewis slipped the phone into his pants pocket. It pressed uncomfortably against his leg. "What happens now?"

"You go home and wait for me to call you."

"What about Polly?"

"She'll go home with you."

Lewis heard the door open again. He turned around. Polly was standing in the doorway. The tall man stood beside her, gripping her arm. Lewis stood up and went to her, ignoring the fresh pain that shot through his leg. The tall man shoved Polly towards him; he looked thoroughly irritated, and for a brief instant, Lewis feared that he'd strike her. He put his arms around Polly, pulling her against him.

"Take them home."

~x~

Sideswipe watched as Mooch and Spinny led Lewis and Polly from the room. She breathed a sigh of relief; it was as if an intense pressure had suddenly been lifted. Riff turned to Sandy.

"You should head home, too," he said. He glanced over at her. "The both of you."

Sideswipe looked at her computer. The program was still pulling files; she'd have to monitor it to make sure it didn't crash. "I have to stay," she said, pointing at the laptop. "I have to make sure it doesn't crash."

"How long will it take?"

Sideswipe shrugged. "I dunno."

"You can stay here as long as you need to," said Riff. "We moved all the furniture out. I don't think it'll be very comfortable."

"I'll be fine." It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would be better than sleeping on the roof of the apartment building opposite Polly and Lewis's. Sideswipe sat back down behind the computer and cracked her knuckles. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sandy flinch. "Sorry."

He ignored her. "I'm heading out," he said to Riff.

"Sorry about your hand," said Riff.

Sandy glanced down at the brace on his left hand and shook his head. "It's nothing," he said.  
"It'll be fine."

"Good."

Sandy turned and left without another word. Sideswipe had assumed that he'd hurt himself fighting with Lewis. She tapped her fingers against the card table; she'd seen the brace on his hand before the bombs had gone off, before Lewis had even arrived. She barely noticed that Riff had turned and left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone with the flickering computer screen.

~x~

"Are we leaving?" Dinah blew another smoke ring at the ceiling. She'd heard a car pull away, gravel and dirt crunching under the tires. She had assumed that someone was bringing Lewis and Polly home.

"In a minute." Riff sat down across from her. He was holding a small black box. He put it down on the table and slid it towards her. "I want you to wear this."

Dinah stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and picked up the box. The ring inside had a dark red gem surrounded by tiny, glittering diamonds. She took it out of the box and held it up to the light, amazed at how pretty it was. She slid it onto her finger; the red jewel glimmered. It looked like a tiny droplet of fire resting against her finger. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She couldn't stop staring at it.

"It's so pretty..."

"You like it?"

She finally looked at him and nodded vigorously. "It's so pretty - you shouldn't have - "

"I want you to wear that for the rest of your life, Di."

Dinah nodded again. "I will, Riff, I swear, I will." Hours later, she would realize that he'd just asked her to marry him; he'd done it in that demanding, slightly awkward tone he always used when he wanted something. In the heat of the moment, she just thought of it as a gift. Had she known otherwise, her answer would have remained the same. She loved Riff more than she'd ever loved anyone. She got up and went to him, to kiss him and hug him. He pulled her in close, and she could smell his cologne, mixed with sweat, blood, and gunpowder. It was the way he always smelled; it drove her wild.

She closed her eyes and kissed him. This had been, by far, the best night of her life.

~x~

Lewis fumbled with his keys, stabbing blindly at the lock. Polly gently pried them from his fingers and opened the door. She was grateful that Riff Raff's hired thugs had not accompanied them inside the building; she wasn't sure she'd be able to take any more of their menacing glares. She was also fairly certain that the taller of the two had groped her when he'd carried her out of the room; she thought that she had briefly felt his hand up her skirt. For some reason, it was hard to tell what exactly had happened. Parts of the night were crystal clear, while other parts were fuzzy. Nonetheless, it was not something that she planned on telling Lewis. It wasn't something he needed to know.

She nudged the door open and helped Lewis limp inside. She thankful that his apartment was on the first floor, just a corridor away from the front door. It was a little after four in the morning, too early for anyone to be up; at least she didn't have to explain Lewis's injuries to anyone. She kicked the door shut and flipped on the light. He leaned against her, dragging his left leg behind him as they walked to the bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling. The cuts on his face and arms had stopped bleeding and begun to scab over; in the car, he'd told her that they'd be completely healed before the week was out. His arms, hands, and face were caked with dirt and dried blood. Polly hadn't realized just how bad his injuries were until now; she'd somehow missed the congealed blood surrounding his left ear.

"Is there a first aid kit?" she asked.

"In the bathroom. Under the sink." He pointed without looking at her.

The first aid kid under the bathroom sink was well-stocked and incredibly heavy. Polly practically had to drag it into the bedroom. She set it down on the bed next to Lewis and opened it. He lifted his head and squinted into the white metal box. "Any painkillers in there?"

Polly rummaged through the box and found an orange bottle full of little white pills. She unscrewed the cap and poured two pills into his hand. "I'll go get you some water."

He shook his head and shoved the pills into his mouth. "No, stay with me." He swallowed. He gripped her arm with a shaking hand and looked up at her. "Please, stay here with me."

"I won't go anywhere."

"Thank you." He closed his eyes. "I'm so tired."

She watched as sleep overtook him and he drifted away. She lay down beside him and put her arms around him. He leaned against her; she could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took. She was suddenly exhausted. The energy had been completely drained from her. She closed her eyes and squeezed Lewis's hand; he squeezed hers in return. They both knew that things would never return to normal, but they could pretend that everything would be all right for a little while longer.


End file.
